Hey, PTX!
by carrie the small
Summary: When Kirstie clicks on a video labeled "Hey, PTX, Watch This!", she doesn't expect what follows. What follows is a cry for help in more ways than one. But how in the world can she and the rest of Pentatonix help a random girl from the middle of nowhere? Potentially triggering story, warnings inside. Rated M for safety, it's probably a high T. TEMPORARILY DISCONTINUED.
1. Chapter 1

Harley

* * *

I'm taking in deep breaths while the camera rolls. Deep breaths while I show the posters, one by one. Sometimes I smile, sometimes I'm close to tears, sometimes bad memories make me shudder a little. Well, no one will be able to deny that this video's got emotion behind it.

It's for Amara. It's all for Amara.

I hope and pray that she's still okay. She's got to be. This is for her.

Well, Ben, too. But mainly Amara.

I miss them. I saw them yesterday, and I still miss them. I'm scared beyond belief for them, too. What if I'm not enough? What if something happens? What would their parents do? Would they ever be the same? Of course not, which is why I have to do this.

I know they've all changed inside a bit already, but I consider this the final straw. This will be the last time for a long time that the Jackson family will have to deal with grief on this level. I'm determined to make it that way.

Just get on with it, Harley. Just make the video. Five more minutes, and you can go back inside and make yourself a mango smoothie and take some ibuprofen for the raging headache you're probably going to get.

I mentally drill myself with those words as I let all of YouTube see into my private life.

* * *

 **I came up with this after listening to PTX nonstop while logging hours to get my driving license. Don't hate me for not updating my other stories, but this plot bunny was out of control!**

 **Love you all,**

 **carrie**


	2. Chapter 2

**Just so you know, any warnings necessary for this story will be posted here. I'll warn you chapter by chapter.**

 **This chapter has suicidal triggers (mentioning suicide and the treatment of same).**

* * *

Kirstie

* * *

I type in PTX, hit enter, and take it in for a second.

All these people. Sometimes I still myself wondering how all these people know us. Of course, that goes away the second I see the crowd when we perform. They're real.

I scroll down, but this time, I see a new video.

 _Hey, PTX, Watch This!_

"Hey," I say quietly. "Hey, guys, check this out."

"What?" Avi shouts from the next room over.

"Look at this video," I say. "Want to watch it?"

He looks over my shoulder. The picture shows a teenage girl holding up a sign that says, _Don't you dare scroll past this!_ Her wavy brown hair goes a few inches past her shoulders, and the ends are dyed a deep purple that matches her lipstick perfectly. Her cream white skin is only interrupted by a small scattering of freckles on her nose. Her blue eyes are outlined with black eyeliner, and she's got a smile that seems to say, _I know exactly what you're thinking, and I love it_. She's sitting in the woods somewhere, and it looks pretty. There's a pile of posters on the ground in front of her.

"Why not?" Avi shrugs. "I'll get the others."

After a couple of minutes, we're all crowded around my laptop. I press play.

There's no sound for a second, but then a piano starts playing softly in the background. A beautiful young woman's voice—I'd guess around college age—sings "Scarborough Fair" with the piano.

The girl smiles nervously, and holds up the posters in front of her one by one.

"Oh, it's like one of those 'my secrets' videos," Mitch says.

"But then why would she ask for us specifically?" Scott asks.

Kevin hushes us. "I kind of like the voice. Who is that in the background, anyway?"

The poster says, _My name is Harley Freedman. I'm fifteen years old._

The next poster says, _I live in Jamesontown, in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. We're basically in the middle of nowhere._

 _I'm a bisexual atheist living in the middle of a really conservative neighborhood. Bit of bad planning on my part._

Harley gives a shrug and a half smile, and then reveals the next poster with a proud smile.

 _In case you're wondering, this is a recording of me singing at a choir concert this year._

"What?" Avi asks in disbelief. "No way."

 _She shows the next poster with narrowed eyes and a smirk. (By the way, I see you there doubting my singing skills...)_

"She got you, Avi," Kevin says with a smile.

 _I've been singing since I was twelve years old. About a year later, I made it into the high school's production of Annie despite the fact that I was still in middle school. I was Annie._

 _Last year, I joined an international choir. We toured all over Western Europe. I'm the only girl they had who was able to hit a High C and still be able to sing Alto 2 if needed._

"Whoa," Mitch says, impressed.

 _This has been a strange year. The choir was fun, but the bullying got worse._

 _I'm tough as they come when it comes to dealing with that shit, but my friends aren't so lucky._

 _By "my friends", I mean Ben and Amara. They're the reason I'm posting this._

We're all silent.

 _Watch out. This is where it gets deep and depressing._

Wait, what?

 _Ben is actually my boyfriend. We started dating after he called me one day while I was in Europe._

 _He was about to kill himself. I stayed on the phone with him long enough for him to tell his parents what he had been about to do, and I had to go for a concert._

"Oh, God," I murmur.

 _The next day, he called me. He said I saved his life._

I look at the screen. Harley is crying, and now I understand why.

 _It was way too close. I've known him since we met during Annie. I've had a crush on him since then. Plus, his little sister, Amara, is absolutely adorable._

 _Ben's on depression meds now. I made sure of that when we touched down back in Detroit._

 _Before the plane ride, he called me again, and told me he was taking me out on a date the minute I got home._

 _When I found him, though, there was no date. Just terrifying news._

 _Amara had attempted suicide._

Harley's face is hidden by the posters. She keeps moving them aside, but I can tell she's definitely crying. I think I might be about to.

Then the next poster comes up.

 _Amara is only eleven years old._

A pause. I gulp to keep from crying.

 _I don't know what kind of sickos make eleven-year-olds think that they should die, but I hope I'll hunt them down someday._

 _Amara's in the hospital. She needed a blood transfusion, and since she's so small, she needed to stay there to recover for a longer period of time than most would._

 _They also want to keep her there to make sure she's not going to try suicide the second she gets home._

 _She's all right physically, but emotionally, she's all over the place._

 _Ben calls me when she's worse, and I get over there as fast as I can. I'm one of the few people left that actually cares._

 _She's looked up to me ever since she saw Annie two years ago. We've gotten really close._

 _I knew she was being bullied, but I didn't know how badly._

 _Like me, she likes to keep her emotions inside. But, being eleven, I'm not sure she knew how to keep them under control._

 _I know for a fact Ben and his parents blame themselves, but really, who's to blame?_

Scott looks slightly sick. I don't blame him.

 _One way we bonded is through you._

"What?" Mitch mutters.

 _Amara and Ben introduced me to your music, and are the reason that I now have every song of yours on my iPod._

 _When Ben feels depressed, he puts on a mix of his music, and I heard one of your songs on there. I looked up your videos, and here we are._

 _Here's where you need to pay attention._

 _Hopefully you don't have anything planned on November 9_ _th_ _, because that's Amara's birthday._

 _If you can, would you pay a little visit to her in the hospital on that day?_

A pause.

 _I know it's crazy, believe me. My parents laughed when I told them what I'd be doing with these posters._

 _"Waste your own money," they said. "They won't come."_

 _If anything, just come to put my parents straight. Seriously, they haven't even tried to watch me sing once._

"Nice," Avi mutters with an edge.

 _Real nice, huh? Unfortunately, my town's full of people like them who'd be more than happy to give up on Amara and her family._

 _But I'm not those people. I'm smart, I'm strong, I'm kind as a girl can be after being bullied for years, and I'm determined to keep Amara alive._

 _My problems can wait. This is more important than me. This is about Amara now._

 _Even if you can't come, thanks for watching and understanding (hopefully)._

 _Love from Jamesontown,_

 _Harley Marie Freedman (and the Jackson family—they have no idea I'm doing this)_

 _(P.S. anyone who isn't PTX, if I see a mean comment, I'm printing it out and sticking it on my dartboard where it belongs!)_

Thanks for watching!

The video ends, and Harley's voice finishes the song.

 _Then he'll be a true love of mine._

Silence.

* * *

 **As always, reviews (and reviews that point out typos) are appreciated!**

 **Love you all,**

 **carrie**


	3. Chapter 3

**No warnings here.**

* * *

Avi

* * *

We all sort of drift apart after watching the video. It's a lot to think about.

I look it up on my phone. Instead of watching it, I look at the comments.

 _Good luck, Harley! It sounds like your friends need it._

 _You've got guts! I'll share this on Facebook and give it more publicity!_

 _I'm showing all my friends this video! Good luck, Harley!_

All in all, the comments are mostly positive.

 _I hope they see this! It's definitely for a good cause!_

 _No way will they ever see this, but I like your voice._

 _This video is faked._

 _No it's not you ass!_

 _She just wants attention._

 _Being bisexual is impossible. My church recognizes marriage between a man and a woman only, and being gay or bi or whatever is a sin!_

 _Oh, come on! Can we have one video that doesn't start a controversial conversation?_

 _Good luck, Harley! Pretty voice!_

 _Youre voice sucks._

 _So does your grammar._

I smirk at that last one.

I don't log in, but I leave an anonymous comment.

 _Harley's voice is beautiful, and the reason behind the video is undeniably real and raw. Good luck, Harley. Good luck, Amara._

I post the comment.

The question is, will we make it?

* * *

 **No more chapters until someone reviews!**

 **Love you all,**

 **carrie**


	4. Chapter 4

**Slight warning for implied physical abuse.**

* * *

Kevin

* * *

I'm so lost in thought I don't even notice Mitch walk in, which of course makes me jump a mile when I realize there's another person in the room.

"Chill, Kevin, it's just me," Mitch says, his hands raised in front of him.

"Sorry," I say sheepishly. "Didn't realize you were there."

"What are you thinking about?" Mitch asks.

"What do you think?"

"So, will we make it?"

"I don't know," I say. "Do you think the others even want to go?"

"Well, I'd like to go," Mitch says. "Those kids need help, and I'm not just talking about Amara."

"I know." I sigh and get back to my notebook.

"Can I see?"

"I'm still working on it," I say. "If I could just concentrate—"

Just then, Scott bursts into the room, bobbing his head to whatever's playing on his headphones. His eyes are closed, so he crashes into the countertop.

"OW!" he protests, yanking his headphones off.

Kirstie laughs as she walks in. "You all right there?"

"Yeah, 'm fine," Scott laughs.

Then, Kirstie turns serious. "Well?"

"Well, what?" Avi asks from behind Kirstie. She jumps a bit.

"Don't do that!" she protests.

Avi smirks. "What were you talking about in here?"

"I think we all know," Scott says with a shrug. "That girl... Harley, right?"

"The name's pretty hard to forget, Scott," Mitch says.

"I think we should go," Avi says. We all look at him. "What?" he asks. "You saw her."

"Well, Kevin, you're the lie detector," Kirstie says. "What do you think?"

"She's not lying," I say without hesitation. "She has no motivation to lie that we can see, and she definitely cares about her friends. But..."

"But what?" Mitch asks.

"Here's the thing. I don't think she's lying. But there's something else going on here. I can't tell what, but Harley's not telling us something."

"Well, she didn't elaborate too much on the bullying," Avi says. "Was she lying about that?"

"No," I say, "but she's hiding something."

We watch the video again, but this time, we look closer.

"Oh my God," Kirstie says. "Pause it."

I stop it when Harley is in the middle of pulling up a new poster, so most of the screen is taken up by a white blur.

"What's that near her eye?" Kirstie asks.

We look closer.

"I think... it looks like a bruise," Scott says. "Do you think that's what she was hiding?"

"No," I say. "She's not wearing makeup over it. I think she's trying to hide the cause of the bruise."

"But why would she do that?" Avi asks. "For all we know, she hurt herself falling down the stairs or something."

"If she's hiding it, then she doesn't want people to know the cause," Mitch says. "That probably means someone did that to her."

"What?" Scott asks. "Who would do that to someone her size? She looks tiny."

"Whoa," Kirstie says. "Her rings, the ones on her left hand. Those don't look like something most girls would wear."

The fingers of Harley's left hand all have at least one chunky ring, if not more. I have no idea how she moves her hands with that many rings on them.

"She's hiding something, but it's probably not our business," I finally say. "From the looks of it, if someone did that to her, they won't be doing it again if she punches them with her left hand."

"No kidding," Mitch says, eyebrows raised. "She'd probably take an eye out if she tried hard enough."

"But this doesn't answer our question," Avi says. "Are we going, or not?"

We all look at each other, not even needing to say the answer.

But I say it anyway. "Yes."

* * *

 **Love you all,**

 **carrie**


	5. Chapter 5

**No warnings here.**

* * *

Mitch

* * *

I start the video again, but instead of watching it, I just listen.

Harley sounds years older than fifteen. She sounds even older than Kirstie.

I decide to leave a comment.

 _Nice voice, Harley! Pentatonix is definitely coming if they have the sound up!_

I post it.

It's not like I can promise her anything. We're not even sure how we'll work our schedule around enough to get ourselves over to Michigan. I'm leaving an anonymous comment, just in case. No need to let her know we've already seen it.

Then, I remember something. Harley mentioned her parents never coming to any of her concerts, and discouraging her from posting the video.

Could they be the ones that hurt Harley?

No, I think. No way would—

Something crashes in the other room. I sigh and see what it is.

"Sorry to wake you up," Kirstie says. A broken bowl lies by her feet. "I can clean it up."

"I'll get the broom," I say, doing my best to move quietly. There's not much room to move in this bus, but I manage to move myself to the closet where we keep the broom.

Once Kirstie and I clean up the mess, we go back to our respective beds. I'm probably not the only one lying awake. Sure enough, I can hear someone moving around in the next room over.

Harley, Amara, and Ben are the only people on my mind. Normally, around this time I'd be sending out texts to my family and friends back home. But Harley, Amara, and Ben take up all the space in my head.

How are we going to help them? What can we do? Sing a song and just leave? I feel guilty about that, but we're in the middle of working on our newest album, and we'll need all the time we can get.

But if we work on our album in Jamesontown, Michigan...

I can't sleep. In fact, I don't sleep until about four o'clock in the morning. At six, I have to wake up so we can get ready for the concert today. I end up drinking about four cups of coffee, even though it's the worst coffee I've had in years. Poor Kevin looks like a zombie, Avi's hair is everywhere, Kirstie's makeup from yesterday is still on, and Scott makes it about five minutes before he collapses at the table and starts snoring.

"Mitch, is that coffee?" Kirstie asks.

"Yep," I say with a sigh, "and it tastes disgusting."

"Hand it over," she says. Once I see the look in her eyes, I give her the coffee without hesitation. She immediately takes a sip and sighs happily. Then she looks at her reflection.

"Oh, great, my makeup's still on. Be right back," she says.

Out of all of us, Avi seems the most awake. He's not exactly lively, but at least he's not sleeping in his cereal, like Scott.

"We should probably wake him up," Avi says with a glance at Scott.

"Good plan," I say. "Any ideas?"

Kevin jumps up. "Just a second," he says as he goes into the bathroom. When he comes back, he's got an air horn in his hand.

"Look out," he says. Then, with a _PHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!_ from the horn, Scott jumps right out of his seat and onto the floor.

That's the only highlight of the day until the concert, which is, of course, beyond amazing once I get past the usual nerves. After that, I pretty much drag myself to the tour bus, and from there I don't remember anything until about nine o'clock the next day, when Avi wakes me up the same way I woke up Scott.

"JESUS, AVI!" I yell, and Harley, Amara, and Ben are shoved to the back of my mind.

For now.

* * *

 **Updates will be slow, since I had a concert yesterday and I have one tonight and one tomorrow night.**

 **Love you all,**

 **carrie**


	6. Chapter 6

**Once again, no warnings here.**

* * *

Ben

* * *

Harley once told me that I was more battering ram than human when I got lost in my hockey game. Anyone and anything between me and the puck had to go, that was it. Of course, this is coming from the girl who's always got something unbelievable up her sleeve, so I'm still not sure if she really means it or if she's just exaggerating.

I know Harley pretty well, so I can always tell when she has a plan. But I can never tell what the plan is unless she gets me involved somehow. One time, we toilet papered Mikayla's house after Mikayla's mother decided to make a public speech about the need to take more funding from the drama club. Another time, after a particularly bad breakup with a guy that looked like he could eat puppies for breakfast with no qualms about it, Harley then graffitied the side of his house with a little message that I'm sure sent him into fits when he read it.

Whenever she involves me in her plans—or anyone else—her message is always the same: "I picked you because I know you won't rat me out, but if you fuck this up, you're next in line for the Freedman wrath."

She's not joking about the Freedman wrath. Harley has two tough-as-nails older sisters that have no problem beating up people that mess with their baby sister. Mandy's got unlimited access to her college's science labs, which means you could wake up to find some dangerous chemicals slowly eating away at your car—or your skin. Jane, being transgender, has the body of an Olympian and the mind of an angry older sister, which is dangerous in any situation. Then there's Harley. She doesn't look like she could hurt anyone, but she can. Harley has a black belt from her karate classes, and I think someone should give her a black belt for her intimidation skills, too. She's got backup plans for her backup plans for her backup plans that have at least five more backup plans. Harley has a great memory, so the second someone does something against her or one of her sister or friends, she has them marked. She actually has a list of people she's got to get back at. Calls it "the calling order", like she's going door-to-door or something.

If there's one thing I could say to anyone new in town, I'd say this: don't mess with the Freedman sisters, and definitely don't mess with Harley.

I will say this, though. Harley, if you're lucky enough for her to consider you a friend, will go to the ends of the earth and Heaven and Hell and back to help you.

I know this for a fact, now that Amara's in the hospital.

About a week after Amara's suicide attempt, Harley got that nearly imperceptible look in her eyes that says, _I've got a plan, and it's gonna be good_. I say nearly imperceptible because, as far as I know, I'm the only one who can see it. Despite all the grief and the other shit she puts up with, she's got a twinkle in her eye that can only mean two things. Either one of her plans succeeded—and they always do succeed, in the end—or she's come up with a new one. And since I haven't heard of anyone being whooped by a stranger or coming home one day to find their garage trashed, I'm going to assume that she's coming up with a plan.

Harley has explained to me the reasoning behind her plans. Harley believes in karma. She also believes that sometimes, karma acts through other people. "I have graciously taken it upon myself to be one of those people," she said to me once.

I believed her wholeheartedly at the time. Of course, that was before we were dating, and back then I was crushing on her so hard that she could've asked me to jump off a cliff and I would've done it. I mean, she's still got me wrapped around her finger, but at least now I accept it.

Because here's the thing. I think she loves me just as much. Why else would she suddenly include my family in her circle of people to protect and avenge? Harley's gone chasing after Amara's bullies more times than I can count, and she's helped me out a fair bit, too.

I don't know what she's planning, but it definitely has something to do with Amara. Harley's listening to her iPod more than normal, and she's been writing stuff in her notebook; she's been happier than normal, too. Of course, that's probably an act for Amara.

Harley always acts happier around Amara, for some reason. Harley's hard to figure out, so I don't know why, but I figure Amara reminds Harley of herself. They're a lot alike in their own ways.

I set my phone on shuffle. Pentatonix comes up. "See Through".

I skip over it. It's hard to listen to that with Amara being so...

I've been crying, and it's only now that I realize it. I'm alone in the locker room. My hockey gear is hanging from a hook on the wall. it's dead silent. If I stay still long enough, the lights will go out, and I'll have to move to get them on again.

It's funny. Harley says I'm like a battering ram. But how could I be like that if I can't help out my little sister?

She's little, too. I'm built tough like my dad, but Amara's just as small as Mom was at that age. I've seen pictures, and I honestly think even Mom was a little bigger. Amara may be eleven, but she's a four foot eight string bean. I have absolutely no idea how she's managed to last this long, with all the blood she lost and the long wait to get a transfusion.

The reason might just be Harley.

She's crazy. I think Harley's spent more time in the hospital than out lately. I don't know how her parents don't miss her, but they don't seem too mad about the fact that their daughter runs off with her boyfriend every day and doesn't come home until some time around seven. Sometimes, if Amara goes through a bad spell, Harley comes, even if it's three o'clock in the morning. Harley's just got this sort of sixth sense that tells her if something's wrong with Amara.

Thank God for that. Amara needs someone that isn't family.

Actually, what Amara needs is a miracle. But, as we all know here in Jamesontown, miracles don't happen.

Then again, they also believe that Harley Freedman might just be the exception.

* * *

 **Once again, no more chapters until I get more reviews. I'm really proud of this story, and I'd like it to continue in a good direction, but I can only really do that when I get some feedback.**

 **Love you all,**

 **carrie**


	7. Chapter 7

**Warning for implied abuse.**

* * *

Azalea

* * *

Well, I've always known that one of these days Harley would come to my door. It seems everyone comes to me at some point.

But I wasn't expecting the circumstances.

I'm sitting on my patio, swinging on my hammock and slurping one of the most disgusting smoothies I've ever tasted in my life. Then, I hear a knock—well, more like a bunch of banging—on my door.

I open it to find Harley looking like hell. Her shirt (I assume it was white at one point) is covered with blood, and her right hand is covering her face while the other continues banging on my door.

"Hey, ease off, kid," I tell her. Then, both of her hands go to her face as I guide her inside. Clearly, she can't see straight.

"Help," she says, a soft plea in her voice that would normally never even dream of coming out of Harley Freedman's mouth. Something's massively wrong.

If Harley Marie Freedman needs help, the world just might be on fire.

Well, no news of raging wildfires or global catastrophes yet. Strange.

Harley's so solid on her feet, you'd think she was my age instead of fifteen. Then again, I've heard rumors of Harley lying about her age.

But this is my house. There are no rumors here, no prejudices, no grudges of any kind. My house is a place to stay.

Once I show Harley the bathroom, she holes up in there for a while. After about half an hour, she comes out with bandages on her wrists, her left ankle, her left elbow, her stomach, and her face. She's even made herself a makeshift eyepatch to cover her right eye.

What on earth got to this girl? A lion? Considering Harley's friendly with a local circus group, it's not impossible.

But all the scratches are on her right side. Was she pushed into something, or off something? Maybe she just fell off her bike, but the injuries she's got look worse than that.

"Can I crash here for the night?" Harley asks. "My old man's on the vodka again."

And just like that, Harley's in the room upstairs, and I'm left thinking about what her father might look like. He must be the size of a bear. Dark beard stubble on his face. Mean look in his eyes, like a panther that's about to claw your eyes out. Hands like a football player's. Probably cracks his knuckles real loud, too. And if Harley calls him her "old man", even though she's normally got different, prettier words for everything, he must be absolutely terrifying.

* * *

 **The plot thickens...**

 **Thanks to TeamStarkidLove and "Geronimo" for reviewing!**

 **Love you all,**

 **carrie**


	8. Chapter 8

**Read the note at the bottom! It's important this time! Implied child abuse in this chapter, but no descriptions.**

* * *

Harley

* * *

I can hear Azalea thinking, and it's disturbing.

I probably shouldn't have said that thing about Dad. I mean, he _is_ back on the vodka, but that's not the reason I got hurt. I get good verbal thrashings from him when he's drunk, but never physical ones. Even drunk, Dad knows that if he lays one grimy finger on me, he'll be on the ground with pepper spray in his eyes before he can even breathe.

The actual thrashing was courtesy of my dear mother.

I'm sure I look like I've been wrestling with an alligator. That's because I fought back. Big time. Mom's going to flip when she finds out what I did.

There used to be a hole in the fence that Mandy and Jane and I snuck through to get to the woods that surround the town and our house. Mom finally replaced the wood there five years ago, when Jane declared herself transgender. I reopened the hole, using mainly my hands and a sharp piece of Dad's car that fell off this morning. Cut myself up well, too, crouching on the ground on my side like that. Since the time the hole was fixed, thistles have grown wild and untamed there. It didn't help that someone had been out partying last night and had thrown an empty beer bottle to the ground, leaving it in tiny, shattered pieces for me to find the hard way. I don't even know why I made a new hole. I just did.

People think I plan things. People think a lot about me. I can practically see those gears turning in their heads when they try to figure out what I might do next. But that's the whole point of being the man with the plan: you get to decide exactly when everyone gets to know about your plan. And, because most of the people in this town are under the "idiot" category, they typically don't find out what my plan was until the next day.

Outside of my family, Ben and Amara were the first to figure that out. We also figured out that they need me and I need them, which is why Amara isn't going anywhere near heaven just yet. Not while I'm around. She's involved in twenty-three plans I have yet to put into action; if she dies, my whole inner world will rearrange itself, and twenty-three plans will be wasted.

Whether most people here know it or not, my plans are what keeps this town running smoothly. If I weren't around to stop the dumb ones and the mean ones in their tracks, what would this town be? A town of dumb people and mean people, that's what.

Think about it logically. The police system around here is a joke. Some of my plans have involved things like trespassing, breaking windows, sabotaging cars, and doing graffiti. Even the gentler plans are probably enough to get me sent to juvie in most places. But here, stuff like vandalism runs wild because everything's so spread out. Besides, we're in the middle of the goddamn woods. Any serious criminal who tried to pull something here would get lost in the woods, and they'd either never be seen again or come rushing back to the police with open arms once they found a road.

Basically, our legal system and police system aren't worth shit. It's been my job to keep people in line ever since I figured that out.

By keeping people in line, I mean watching out for people I know are good inside. I don't just favor my friends. I make friends because I know who they are inside. Anyone who's good on the inside but bad on the outside just needs a little scare every once in a while. They'll come around eventually. But some people are just plain bad, and they're the ones I've really got to watch out for.

The kids that bullied Amara to the point of attempting suicide, for example. Some of them are probably good inside, but, unfortunately for them, they've crossed the line. Death isn't a thing to be approached. To drive a person to suicide is, in my opinion, murder. Meaning that in my book, those kids attempted to murder my best friend.

They'll pay. I know they will. They always pay in the end, because no one gets in the way of my plans.

Why? Because I know everything about people. I know their middle names, their ages right down to the second, their favorite foods, what they ate for breakfast this morning, what they're scared of, what makes them happy, what could destroy their spirits, what could anger them, and so on. I know people. I know how to read them. And since I know everything about them, I also know how to manipulate them, and how to push them straight into a trap. I'm not the smartest, but my mind works faster, which means by the time people figure out what I've done, it's too late to stop me.

I'll already be gone.

The only exceptions to these rules of nature are my parents, which is why I avoid them.

What Azalea's probably thinking is true; I am terrified of my parents. But not for the reason she thinks. I'm scared of them because if they interfere, the plans stop, and my world stops.

My mind is different. It revolves entirely on a specific routine, and specific people. I have to complete at least two of my plans before I even think about sleeping, and if one of the people in my little universe goes missing, there's trouble.

Amara is an entire galaxy in my universe. If she dies, so do all of the possibilities that surround her. She can't go.

So, I have a plan.

As always, I have a plan.

But it involves people I've never met, people I don't know. People that I probably wouldn't want to manipulate unless I absolutely had to.

What if it goes wrong?

* * *

 **Okay, I'm trying something new here. Every time I post a chapter, someone (I don't care who) has to leave a review, good or bad, before I post a new one. Meanwhile, in return, I will review every single fanfic I read, good or bad, because I understand the struggle. Seriously, review. In the wise words of Shia LaBeouf, "JUST DO IT!"**

 **Love you all,**

 **carrie**


	9. Chapter 9

**Nothing to warn you about unless you're a homophobe. In which case, leave now, because you haven't seen anything yet.**

* * *

Justin

* * *

I sit on the edge of my cot and read the message from Azalea.

 _Hurricane Harley is on the move again. Miss you._

I text back: _Miss you too, little sis._

I pull up a picture of her. It's pretty old, but she's got the same bright pink hair, and of course she's decked out in her patchwork clothes and her millions of what she calls "healing crystals" that supposedly keep her balanced with positive energy.

I've noticed that the longer I'm gone, the more crystals she wears on her neck.

Honestly, there's nowhere I'd rather be. My country needs me, and if they need me in Africa, then Africa is where I'll go. Even though I've only got Azalea, and Azalea's only got me.

I still remember the day she told me she was "straight as that rainbow up there" (yes, there was actually a rainbow that day). I could've spit my soda a hundred yards. After that, we started getting really close for whatever reason. Of course, that might have been the fact that we thought the same girls were hot.

Azalea changed her name (and her hair) and got an enormous tattoo on her arm on her eighteenth birthday. Then she became a tattoo designer/makeup artist/face painter/I don't even know what else. Then, she started with the healing stones or whatever they are, and things just kept getting weirder and weirder. Whenever I picture those hippies from the '70s, I picture Azalea fitting right in with them. She's all about balance and world peace and all that. She's also got this weird above-it-all kind of attitude, like nothing could ever help her or hurt her. Honestly, Azalea's the closest thing I can imagine if I think of the concept of Nirvana. For all I know, she's actually trying to reach Nirvana. The only thing getting in the way of that is the fact that if someone touches any of her crystals, they'll probably die.

I know for a fact that Azalea's saved lives. There's something about her that makes her just as approachable as a lifelong best friend. People camp out at Azalea's house when they need a place to sleep for the night, or maybe a place to hide, or even someone to talk to. The thing about her is that you can give her world of secrets and she won't think of using that world to her advantage for a shadow of a second. The people in Jamesontown know that.

Hurricane Harley. I'm tempted to ask Azalea if there's ever been a time when Hurricane Harley _wasn't_ on the move. Why would Azalea text me about Harley's latest plan when Harley always has a plan?

Could it be that Harley needs help? Has Harley stopped at Azalea's?

I text Azalea that question. She texts back with: _She asked for help._

Somehow, that terrifies me. The idea of someone like Harley asking for help makes me think of things that Harley couldn't handle. I've heard rumors of her being scared of fire, but that's ridiculous. Harley is incapable of fear.

Right?

Or is something over there so wrong that Harley Freedman is scared? I immediately think of the terrorists I fight against every day, and remember that even they couldn't scare Harley, as long as she had a plan to put into action.

I look up the local news. Thank God there's signal here.

CHILD ATTEMPTS SUICIDE: LOCAL POLICE BAFFLED.

Well, _that's_ definitely something to scare Harley.

The girl is one of Harley's known friends, one of the people in town that can't be touched as long as Harley's around. Amara Jackson. She gets along well with the other two Freedman sisters, too. She's from the redhead family, the youngest. She's the one that plays the harp. Where the hell did the kid get a harp? How does she even know Harley?

Harley's known group of friends are untouchable. Everyone is scared of Harley. If anyone touches someone Harley cares about, they'll wake up the next day with something of theirs missing, be it a favorite necklace or the car keys or their hair.

Which unlucky souls are subject to the Freedman wrath now? Because whoever they are, they've angered Harley, her older sisters, and Ben Jackson, who's got to be the tallest, toughest kid in town from what Azalea tells me.

They're gonna have one hell of a month.

* * *

 **Thanks to the reviewers and followers!**

 **Love you all,**

 **carrie**

 **P. S. Remember Harley's message to her ex mentioned in Chapter 6? If any of you have guesses, leave them in the reviews!**


	10. Chapter 10

**No warnings here.**

* * *

Jane

* * *

From the way Harley's been acting lately, you'd think Jamesontown was about to be wiped out by a nuclear bomb or something. She's running around like a chicken with its head cut off, bringing Amara treats and new sheet music and dolls and candy that she stole from terrified small children on Halloween.

As far as I know, she's only told Mandy and I about her whole get-Pentatonix-to-Amara mission. I personally think it's a genius idea, but Mandy's a little skeptical.

I know she'd like for it to happen, though. Mandy's been running back and forth the same way as Harley, making secret arrangements that may or may not be needed. It's hard to hide anything from Harley, but somehow, Mandy's managing it.

They say Harley's a master planner, but they never think about Mandy. They should think about her more often.

Without Harley suspecting a thing, Mandy has made arrangements to secretly house Pentatonix in the middle of Jamesontown during the beginning of a Michigan winter. The whole "without Harley suspecting a thing" is key here. Harley, as Queen of Jamesontown and All Those Who Reside In It (a title that everyone subconsciously knows she has), knows everything about everything that's going on. When she finds out, she's either going to be joking about it for years or unbelievably pissed for years.

Mandy made a video of her own for Pentatonix, and attached the link to it in one of the comments for Harley's video.

Here's what the video said.

"Hi, everyone. Just call me Mandy. As some of you know, I just happen to be the older sister of one Harley Marie Freedman.

"First, allow me to apologize for whatever she may have already done to you or what she's planning to do to you.

"Second, let me give you a little warning: Hurricane Harley is on the move again, and this time she's determined to get Pentatonix over here to meet Amara Jackson, whose condition is desperate. I'm not talking about the physical standpoint; I'm talking about Amara's will to live. For the last few months, Harley has laid all other plans aside to make sure little Amara knows how important she is in Harley's world. Amara Jackson, as you may have heard about in the local news, is an eleven-year-old girl who attempted suicide this August.

"Now, here's where things get interesting. If any member of Pentatonix is watching this right now, and you know you can come for Amara's birthday, if not another day, skip ahead exactly thirty seconds."

Since I'm not in Pentatonix, I decided to ignore the skip-ahead thing and listen to the rest.

"Harley, if this is you, skip ahead, too. Jane, if this is you, do whatever. As for the rest of you, if you support what we're doing, make sure to hit that like button and share with your friends. If you don't like what we're doing, you can go fuck yourself. Have a nice day!"

Mandy's done it again. She's taken everyone by surprise with her words. Mandy's lab coat and glasses and six foot long scarf (due to her obsession with "classic" Doctor Who, as she calls it) don't match with the motorcycle gear and her swearing. Like Harley, she's always yanking the rug from under people's feet. Mandy is the forgotten one when people think of the Freedman sisters, the Eilonwy to the Disney princesses.

If anything, they should forget about me. They only remember me because I'm "the transgender one", meaning I'm only remembered so people can avoid me like the plague. This is a conservative neighborhood; I think they're afraid they'll catch the transgender or something.

When you're part of the LGBTQ group but you live somewhere conservative, your life becomes a catch-22. Damned if you come out, damned if you don't. Well, I've never really been the type to hide my feelings, so I was basically like, "fuck that shit," and I went and wore makeup to school one day. Big whoop. It wasn't like it was any big deal for me. I'd always known I was a girl. The real problem was getting everyone else to look past my body.

Mandy and Harley are amazing. I don't think I've heard either one of them slip up the pronouns and call me a "he" instead of a "she". They've been my support through everything. Mandy offers a shoulder for me to cry on, Harley heads off to beat up whoever made me cry, I act as the bringer of common sense for both of them. That's pretty much our sister relationship.

Both of them need reality checks. Harley thinks that once she graduates and goes wherever she goes, things ill be the same as they are in Jamesontown. Mandy, meanwhile, needs to accept the fact that, no, she can't find the cure for cancer while teaching dance classes, skydiving whenever she can, playing the piano, riding her motorcycle everywhere, and keeping Harley from murdering the kids who bullied Amara. Also, because she's Mandy, she needs a good ego stroking every once in a while to keep her from going insane, so I just remind her that she's close to finding the cure for cancer while doing all that other stuff.

As far as I know, there's only one thing Mandy's not good at. She hates being bored. If you watch Sherlock, you'll remember the scene where Sherlock starts shooting at the wall because he's bored. That's Mandy. I wish I was joking, but she actually has a pistol, and, yes, there are holes in the wall of her house that I had to help cover the bill for.

I miss her sometimes. She visits a lot, but she and I can't always see Harley at the same time, and the only time she's able to get out of work is when she's visiting Harley for a day or two. I drop by the dance studio she works at sometimes, but most of the time she's teaching, so I just sit and watch. Some of the kids know about me, so they'll wave as they leave, smiles on their faces because Mandy's just done something or said something really inspiring.

Mandy's got unbelievable power, and almost all of it resides in her words. It's like Harley level power, but in a different area.

I seem to be the only Freedman without that power.

Mandy and Harley say I'm brave, and that's my power. They say they'd never be able to come out like I did. But they don't understand. That took no effort whatsoever. It was just being true to myself, and if there's one thing I'm good at, it's honesty. I'm pretty sure I'm incapable of putting up a front just to fit in. I've never even tried, mainly because the idea just doesn't appeal to me. The decision to wear makeup was made in about thirty seconds, and the biggest reason I wasn't sure about it was because I had no clue how to do my own makeup at the time. It wasn't like most kids you hear about that made the decision to come out over weeks of planning. It just happened.

How is being a true person powerful? It's easy if you're me.

Maybe I'll never understand my sisters' reasoning, and they'll probably never understand mine. Oh, well. As long as they know I'm here when they need a shoulder to cry on or a revenge assistant (that's what Harley calls the people who help her with her plans).

Mandy may need a shoulder to cry on. Heaven knows she can't be strong all the time, like Harley. Harley's just a freak of nature when it comes to that. I only saw her cry when she was a baby and she needed her diaper changed or something. That, and the video, but I know she was acting. She cares a lot about Ben and Amara, and if she was like me, those tears would've been real. But Harley shows her emotions differently than the rest of us.

She's different, so the entire town fears her. Something about that just doesn't add up, but honestly, Harley's probably figured out whatever I'm missing by now. She always does, and she always will. Why would that ever change when Harley's incapable of change?

It's just impossible.

Right?

* * *

 **Sorry for the break! Mom fell and sprained her ankle, so I've had to take over most of the chores at home. But now that she's feeling better and my writer's block is completely gone, updates should come a little faster now.**

 **Thank you for your reviews, LalaLucia and markersandpens, and for your ongoing ones, TeamStarkidLove! Also, thanks to those of you who have followed me or my story!**

 **The at-least-one-review-per-chapter rule still applies.**

 **Love you all,**

 **carrie**


	11. Chapter 11

**Major bullying and suicidal thoughts here!**

* * *

Amara

* * *

Harley closes the door behind her as she leaves, and the room gets colder.

Someone visits every day now. Mostly it's my parents and Ben and Harley, but sometimes Jane will have a day off work and spend some time with me, or Mandy will come after her dance classes and talk for a bit.

Harley's the best. She's been more and more like family ever since I met her.

The first time I was shoved into a trash can, I was nine years old. The first time turned into a fifth time, and I think it was the sixteenth time that Mandy found me.

Since it had happened before, I knew how to tip the trash can over so I could get out without making too much noise. Then I felt a hand on my wrist, and the next thing I knew I was crying and clinging to someone wearing a leather jacket.

I looked up to see the oldest of the Freedman sisters making a call. Fifteen minutes later, we heard screaming coming from the other end of the school, and soon a girl came running over, a huge grin on her face.

"I already made arrangements with the school," Harley Freedman said as she slowed herself to a stop next to us. "I told them Mandy and I found you throwing up. Your parents are coming to pick you up. All you need to do is pick up homework from your classes."

With that, Harley ran back to wherever the screaming had come from.

"I'm Mandy," Mandy said. "That was my sister, Harley. I'm sure you already know about her."

With that, I became a part of the innermost circle of protection in the Freedman family. My house became Harley's whenever her parents were angry at her for whatever reason, and soon we figured out I could sing.

I knew I recognized Harley from somewhere. Turns out she and Ben were in _Annie_ together. She was the one who gave me some chocolate after she saw some of the high school kids bullying me and chased after those kids to do God-knows-what to them.

Since then, we grew close. She knew more about me than I knew about Broadway, and that's impressive. I got to know Jane, too, and Mandy to a certain extent.

One day, I saw Mandy crying. I asked her why she was crying, but she didn't say.

Another day, Mandy was playing the piano and singing. Then, she stopped. When I asked her why, she said, "I don't sing." Which is ridiculous, because her voice was great for someone who's never taken choir or private lessons.

Mandy still plays the piano sometimes, though. She knows I like it when she does. She also happens to know a lot of Broadway choreography, and will sometimes offer to teach me some of it. I'm pretty sure I could play almost any part in _Wicked_ now, if choreography was all that counted.

Jane's always been awesome. She lets me hang out in the workshop sometimes, unless what she's working on is dangerous. It's a great place to hide from bullies. They're all terrified of Jane, who stands at about six foot two and wields all sorts of heavy things that could probably give you a nasty concussion with one little bump.

I've learned from each of the sisters. Mandy can tell me anything about biology and Broadway (two subjects that I love), Jane has told me all I'll ever need to know about cars and how to take care of them (she even helped me drive one once), and Harley helps me deal with my bullies. She's taught me a few of her favorite pranks.

"If you have a bad breakup, just mix M&Ms, Reese's pieces, and Skittles together in a bowl and leave it on their doorstep as a 'fuck you' gift," was the first one. Then, it was how to turn any drawer into a makeshift fish tank, several disgusting things you can leave inside gym shoes, and plenty of ways to survive in the wild.

"If you get lost and you don't know how to find water or what plants are edible, you're screwed," she told me once. Then, she proceeded to drill me on every type of edible plant in Michigan. She also told me which plants were invasive, and that if I ever found some, I should uproot them so that "the little fuckers can quit turning our home to shit".

I may not do perfectly in school, but I'm pretty sure I'm the smartest girl in the Upper Peninsula. Well, aside from Mandy. That girl is scary.

But even all three Freedman sisters can't protect me from everything. They know that now, and they're busy... well, tightening security, if that's the right way to put it. None of them want me hurt again.

I don't think they get it. It's too late. I don't want to live like this, but I have no choice. Dad unloads trucks for a living, and Mom works all sorts of odd jobs and weird hours to keep food on the table. It's not like we can afford to go anywhere. And besides, what would we do once we moved? Start the whole process over again, that's what.

If I was gone, there'd be one less person for them to worry about, one less meal to cook, one less backpack to buy. Maybe then Ben could afford to go to that school for pilots he's always wanted to go to.

It's not like I'd be leaving much behind. My family, sure, and the Freedmans, but that's about it. Six people that care. Only six people hurt if I die.

Pretty good, in my opinion.

But it hasn't worked out that way. Even worse, now my parents will have to pay hospital bills that will take at least five years for them to cover. And that's while they pay every other bill they have to pay.

Somehow, they've been managing. Dad got a promotion, and a while back, Mom started finding money in her purse that she was sure wasn't there before. Maybe they'll be able to manage the bills. Maybe. But if they can't, we'll end up homeless in the Upper Peninsula, where the summers bring disease-carrying mosquitoes and the winters bring feet of snow and negative temperatures. It's beautiful here, but it's far from kind if you don't have a roof over your head, and that's what might happen to us if anything goes wrong.

I don't want to be here. I didn't wish this on anyone.

My parents are stressed. Ben's depression is only getting worse. Harley's running around like crazy. Mandy's got bags under her eyes from lack of sleep, and Jane isn't doing much better.

I'm bringing nothing but trouble on all of them. It would be much better if I could just...

"Amara?"

Mandy walks in, still in her leotard, her hair in two short ponytails that make her look younger than she actually is.

"I gotcha something," she says, a smile on her face. She throws her dance bag on the ground and pulls something out of one of the pockets. It's a lemon meringue.

There's a bakery down the street from the dance studio that I love. My favorite thing from there is the chocolate cream pie, but since the hospital doesn't allow food from anywhere except the mess hall, Mandy's been sneaking me treats when she visits. I'll bet she's remembering the time Harley got mad and started a food fight in the cafeteria with a lemon meringue.

"Are you off to the lab?"

"Pretty much. I've got about ten minutes, though, so I thought I'd stop by," Mandy explains.

Out of all the sisters, Mandy's the prettiest. Her hair's darker than Harley's, and more curly. Her skin's super pale, and the freckles on her nose stand out skin that I haven't seen break out once. She's got the cutest smile, too, and it makes her eyes crinkle into sparkling slits. Honestly, the only way I can describe her eyes is like this: Benedict Cumberbatch. But still, she's pretty intimidating when she's got her leather jacket on and she's straddling her motorcycle. And, of course, because she's a Freedman, she's really tall. Not as tall as Jane, but still.

She pulls out a notebook while I eat the meringue. When I'm done, she give my shoulder a squeeze (she doesn't like hugging people), gathers her things, and leaves with a cheery wave as she slips on a coat.

Mandy can never stay long, and when she does come, she doesn't talk much. That's not unusual, though. This time of year, Mandy doesn't talk much to anyone. I think it's too painful for her.

That girl needs to find herself someone just as awesome as she is. They don't have to date each other or anything, just get along. And bring me chocolate cream pie.

Do I really want to die?

No. When it comes down to what I want, no. But when I think of what people around me need...

This is impossible. How can I stop hurting everyone without hurting myself?

Maybe if I tried something quicker this time, like a bullet? Or maybe...

Sadly, the possibilities are endless.

* * *

 **Now, I'm sure you're all wondering what Amara means by this being a painful time of year for Mandy (yes, that's on purpose), and if PTX is ever going to actually come (they will be soon!) and what happened to me (I've been visiting family in California and turning sixteen, so I've been busy).**

 **There's all the questions I can answer.**

 **This chapter is courtesy of my little sister, who imitated Gollum perfectly when asking (demanding) a new chapter for one of my stories. Thank her, not me.**

 **Love you all (especially the reviewers and followers),**

 **carrie**


	12. Chapter 12

**I know perfectly well you're not interested in my excuses, so here's the next chapter (that took way too damn long to write, and still isn't great). Swearing and hints of trouble here...**

* * *

Mitch

* * *

It's been over a month. Now, it's November.

We're going to Jamesontown, Michigan. It's been kept secret from the public, so Amara doesn't get any unwanted visitors.

"Nervous?" I ask Kirstie, who looks distracted.

"Just... thinking," she says. Which means _of course I'm nervous, you dumbass_ in more polite terms.

I'm nervous, too. I don't know why; it's not like this happens every day, but I think we're doing something good, seeing this girl. Plus, maybe I can clear up my questions.

Like, why does Harley look distracted throughout the video? Why does she keep glancing to the left nervously, like there's someone after her? What was that bruise on her eye? What else did her parents ignore about her? Where did she get that hair dye?

All of them are equally urgent.

Two weeks ago, I searched for the hospital where Amara is staying. During that search, I came across another video from a woman named Amanda Freedman who preferred to be called Mandy. She was wearing a white lab coat over motorcycling gear and held a helmet in one arm.

What followed was a list of places to contact Mandy, and a basic breakdown of what would happen. Once we flew in from the airport of our convenience, Mandy would organize transport to Jamesontown. We were responsible for our transportation out of Jamesontown. Mandy had already organized a deal with a nearby neighbor, so there was a house waiting for us once we got there.

"Just contact me through any of these numbers, and I'll respond as quickly as I can. Also, a quick explanation, in case you noticed something strange in Harley's video. Harley got in a fight with some of the kids in the neighborhood, so any bruises or cuts you see in the video are courtesy of that fight. Don't worry about her. Harley rules Jamesontown whether it likes it or not, because for her to do anything else with her time would be laughable. To give you an idea of what I'm talking about, Harley won the fight I mentioned earlier with almost no effort, and she was against three guys from the football team. Another quick side note: she's much taller than she appears to be in the video, and a lot scarier, too. I haven't seen her reveal that much emotion in nearly five years."

The video ends there. I had Avi's sister contact Mandy, and things went well from there.

"Nice and organized," Esther said with approval. "Left me almost no work to do. Tell them it's official; if they all want to go, you're going."

So, we're going.

We're taking a plane to a private airport near the Mackinac Bridge. From there, we're driving for about three hours to Jamesontown. I've looked it up online, and it's actually beautiful. It's right in the middle of the Upper Peninsula, near the Gwinn State Forest Area. The pictures I saw online are clearly only a few of many.

I'm somehow not surprised that Harley lives there, in a place so isolated from the rest of the world. She seems isolated herself, in a way.

On the way there, we get bad turbulence.

"Sorry," the flight attendant says. "There's a storm system making its way to Michigan, but thankfully we'll only get a bit of wind. I think it'll be over soo—"

After that, the seat belt sign comes on, and everyone feels queasy until the plane comes back down.

Once Kirstie's face finishes its transformation from "guacamole" to "normal", we wait at the airport for Mandy's transport.

What comes isn't what we expected. A woman with pink hair so bright that I could see it from nearly two miles away pulls up in a sleek black car. She gets out and starts walking over, showing absolutely no signs of a woman who's about to let five celebrities in her car.

"Azalea," she says as she holds out a hand attached to a wrist that's absolutely covered in bracelets with crystals on the end of each one. The crystals jingle as she shakes our hands, one by one. We all pile into the car—it's a tight fit, but we manage—and we drive away.

"You mind if I turn on some music?" Azalea asks.

"It's cool," Avi says from his hunched position in the middle seat.

Azalea smiles. "Scott, you mind pulling out the green CD from the glove box?"

Scott rummages around before finding the CD and putting it in the slot. A piano plays softly.

"That's Mandy," Azalea says. "She claims she doesn't sing, but Harley gave me the recording a while back."

"This sounds familiar," Kirstie says.

Then Mandy sings the first few words.

"If I could begin to be half of what you think of me, I could do about anything. I could even learn how to love..."

"Steven Universe," Kirstie marvels quietly. "Mandy's perfect for that song!"

I listen a bit. Mandy's not like Harley. Harley's voice takes you up into the clouds, dances above you so you can watch. Mandy's keeps you safe, tucks you in at night like the loving mother everyone wants to have.

"In case you're wondering, no, Mandy is not aware that she is incredibly talented," Azalea says as the song ends. "She prefers what she's comfortable with."

"And what is she comfortable with, exactly?" I ask.

"Her work at the college, her dance classes, her motorcycle..." Azalea shakes her head. "Hell, Mandy goes skydiving! She's more of an adrenaline junkie than a musician."

"Skydiving?" Kevin asks, eyebrows raised. "Man, and Esther said she was organized."

"Oh, she is," Azalea says. "Mandy's got her life down to a science. I mean, considering she's a science major, I guess that makes sense, but still. The skydiving's only when she's got spare time, and that's not very often. I don't think she's been on a plane in a year." Azalea laughs. "It definitely shows. She's more high strung than ever."

"Who's that?" Scott asks when a strong voice sings with Mandy.

"That's Amara," Azalea says. For the first time, Azalea looks troubled. "We haven't heard her sing for a long time now."

There's a crashing dissonance on the piano, and laughter.

"Mandy, quit hogging the seat!"

"There's barely any room on here, Amara."

"Then get off, you're tall enough to reach!"

"No!"

Then, there's another crash of the keyboard while Mandy and Amara laugh.

"Amara, it's time to—" A new voice starts, and then stops. "What happened?"

"Nothing!" Mandy's voice is embarrassed.

"Who was singing?"

"Mandy was, she's amaz—"

"I don't sing," Mandy says softly. There's pain in her voice, and I wonder if someone told her she was a bad singer in the past.

"Time to go," the new voice says.

"Aw, Ben!" Amara protests. "Stay a bit, I might get Mandy to sing again!"

"You won't," Mandy says. Footsteps fade away.

"What's with her?" Amara asks.

"She's a Freedman, Amara," Ben says. "Who knows?"

Azalea stops the CD.

"Mandy doesn't like to sing anymore. She hates it. Reminds her of her old friends. She also hates driving, which is why you get silly me instead of her," Azalea says.

We're all silent now. There's not much you can say to something like that.

After an awkward three hours, Azalea pulls up to the hospital and drops us off.

"Thanks," she says. "Amara's going to be so happy."

Then, she leaves.

That woman is completely insane.

We all shiver. It's colder than we thought it would be.

Seriously? Is no one else going to go to the door first?

I sigh, and start walking. I hear the others follow me, and I roll my eyes.

It's all silent, mostly. A few kids ride their bikes across the street from us. A woman walks her dog behind them. A couple swings their toddler back and forth on a tire swing.

It's all normal, until we hear the roar of a motorcycle. The couple looks at the woman riding the motorcycle and quickly take their little girl inside. A black helmet covers the woman's face as she pulls into the parking lot.

Once the woman parks the bike, she walks toward us. She takes off her helmet, revealing a pale, freckled face and a huge smile.

"You are absolutely unbelievable," she says with a sharp laugh. "Coming up here for a random girl's birthday? D'you normally do stuff like this?"

We all just stare. She's a lot to take in, after all. Her face is shaped like Kirstie's but there's no makeup to be seen. If I was into girls, I'm pretty sure this woman would be drop-dead gorgeous to me; my theory is proven when I look over to see Avi's face.

"I've got all the paperwork set up. Esther helped me set it up so that visiting hours could be rearranged if needed, but I don't think we'll have to go there. Amara's parents are getting the cake, but they said they'd only be a few more minutes. In the meantime, we can get you checked in. Amara's going to love this."

I take a moment to remember that this woman jumps out of planes in her spare time. Where the hell does she get money for that?

As we walk in the doorway, a trio of girls makes their way past. All three are giggling about something. Mandy flips them off as casually and coolly as humanly possible and keeps walking like nothing happened.

"Rude," one of the girls whispers.

Mandy whirls around, and suddenly I realize just how tall she is. "Touch Amara again and I'll have Harley whoop your ass to kingdom come."

Mandy keeps walking. We follow, uncertainty stronger than ever. Meanwhile, the girls pale in unison and back away.

"Told you Harley runs this place," Mandy says with a smirk. "Just a whisper of her name, and suddenly I scare everyone. Hang on, I've got some paperwork to drop off."

Mandy reaches for an enormous sports bag and digs around. She grows more frustrated as she looks for the paperwork, and ends up tossing a pair of pointe shoes to the ground in her search.

"Aha!" she says with a slightly manic smile as she pulls out a blue folder. Mandy stuffs the pointe shoes back in her bag, and we go to the front desk.

"Again?" the woman on duty says. "Amanda, do you realize—"

"I've spent exactly six hours, fifteen minutes, and eight seconds here, mostly in ten minute intervals," Mandy interrupts coldly. "Yes, Denise, I know what you think of what I choose to do with my spare time, which I get very little of, by the way. Just take the paperwork. I have no patience for your griping today."

Mandy has now become the embodiment of everything I've ever wanted to say to rude people. I like her.

Denise sighs and rips the paperwork from Mandy's hand. She glances up, and her eyes narrow as she looks at us.

Mandy guides us to the elevators, where a tiny boy with a toy soldier in his hand and strapped to about five different IVs is guided away. He salutes Mandy, who salutes right back.

When we reach the right floor, two girls who look about nine greet us.

"Miss Amanda," one of them says, "did you know Jenny's in here too?"

"Well, that's why she hasn't been coming to classes," Mandy says with a roll of her eyes. "Her parents never bothered to tell me. Listen, Beth, I've got to run. See you at class next week, all right?"

"Bye, Miss Amanda!" Beth waves goodbye, but her friend's eyes widen. "Sara, come on," Beth says.

"No," the girl refuses, a growing smile on her face. "Harley got Pentatonix here, didn't she?"

"Yes, she did," Mandy laughs.

"My sister's a fan," Sara says. "Thank God for that. For a while she kept playing the same five songs over and over again, and it was just crazy! I mean—"

"Really?" Mandy says as she guides Sara to Beth, who takes her friend's hand and slowly guides her away.

"Amara's just down the hall," Mandy says.

Sure enough, we hear quiet singing that sounds familiar.

Mandy stops. "No way. She hasn't sung in—"

The singing continues. Once w reach the room, we look through the window. A tall girl in a t-shirt with some sort of crest on it is sitting on the side of a hospital bed occupied by a tiny, redheaded girl who's got sheet music in her hands. The tall girl nods as the girl in the hospital bed sings just loudly enough to be heard.

Then, the tall girl sings. And we've found Harley Freedman.

* * *

 **Once again, the usual author's requests apply here. If you actually want an explanation as to why I went AWOL, here it is. My writing muse likes to take month long breaks, and then come back with no ideas. It's been a long school year on my end, but at least I'm back! Next chapter will be in Mandy's POV.**

 **Bonus points to anyone who knows exactly what Mandy was singing!**

 **Love you all,**

 **carrie**


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